Chapter: Transparency of Reality and the Step into the White Room
The sky was no longer blue. The stars dimmed. The air felt like nothing. All that remained was… transparency.
Reality in that galaxy was no longer something that could be touched, seen, or felt. It was like glass that had lost all its edges—no longer a boundary between being and nothingness. Planet Wallbert, once peaceful, where Exafanos grew watermelons and drank warm tea while enjoying the cosmic breeze, now looked like a painting torn from its canvas. No color, no sound—only absolute transparency.
And yet, life carried on as usual.
Exafanos floated in the vacuum of space, his presence cloaked in an aura of absolute silence. He said nothing.
But his eyes made it clear: he was annoyed. Not angry. Not frustrated. Just annoyed—like someone who forgot to add sugar to their morning tea.
"Who's playing around in my galaxy?" he muttered quietly, yet his voice echoed through quantum corridors.
He didn't need to move. Distance meant nothing to him. In fact, the word far had been irrelevant ever since he erased the definition of space several eras ago. With nothing but intent, he stepped into a place no ordinary being could ever reach: the White Room.
This place wasn't at the center of the universe, nor at its edges. It existed outside of understanding. A void of absolute white, without time, without direction. To get there, Exafanos didn't walk. He erased a distance of ten thousand quintillion times the speed of light. Even light could never reach it, for the White Room was untouched by chronology.
Once before the still expanse of the White Room, Exafanos knocked. Not on a door, for no door existed.
He knocked on reality itself, and the sound echoed through a dimension that shouldn't echo.
Tok. Tok.
From a swirl of white light emerged a man. His height was unremarkable, but his aura was unfathomable. His eyes shimmered with the birth and death of stars. He smiled—a smile that could crush the universe… if he chose to.
Gordos.
The one who created the multiverse itself. The architect of all existence known to beings, and an old friend of Exafanos—the only one he allowed to know of his true self.
"I've been waiting for you," Gordos said softly.
"Of course you have. You always know everything," Exafanos replied casually. His voice was calm, yet each word shook the layers of existence.
Gordos turned his gaze to the transparent rip in reality behind Exafanos. He sighed.
"Your galaxy's reality... yes, I saw it being devoured by something."
"Calamity?" Exafanos asked, eyes narrowing. "Was it you?"
Gordos chuckled. "Oh, no. I didn't create Calamity. But I know where it came from."
Exafanos's eyes glinted briefly, then dimmed again.
"Tell me."
Gordos gestured toward the vast emptiness that formed the White Room.
"Calamity wasn't created like I created the multiverse. It… emerged. From imbalance. And I believe that imbalance came from... you."
"How amusing," Exafanos replied, deadpan.
"Don't get me wrong," Gordos said quickly. "I'm not blaming you. But the 'nonexistence' you carry... it's too powerful. You brought the Fundamental concept of vanishing into a system too fragile to hold it. Around you, space thins. Time fractures. And eventually, Calamity—a manifestation of absolute nothingness—formed itself."
Exafanos sighed. "So I'm like... its father?"
Gordos shrugged. "Perhaps. Or at least, an indirect cause. Calamity was born because the system couldn't recognize you. You're too... incompatible with existence."
Silence.
"Then why didn't you just fix it?" Exafanos asked.
Gordos looked at him seriously. "Because Calamity has already spread too far. It's consumed more than half the galaxy. I had to ensure you acted first. If you didn't... the entire multiverse might fall within moments."
Exafanos folded his arms. He thought for a moment, then spoke softly.
"I just want to live peacefully in my cabin... watering melons and drinking tea."
Gordos smiled, then waved his right hand.
In an instant, the transparent reality thickened once more. Like paint poured onto a blank canvas, colors returned. The sound of interstellar winds whispered again. Planet Wallbert was restored. Everything was normal again.
From afar, beings beyond the universe watched. They saw Gordos... and someone standing beside him.
"Who is that?"
"Why does his aura feel like... nothing?"
But before their curiosity could turn into understanding, vanish responded.
The will of Exafanos pulsed. And poof—all memories of him vanished from their minds.
Not a single being could remember Exafanos for more than a few seconds, unless he allowed them.
The beings returned to their duties. Some arranged stars. Others redrew the fate of civilizations.
But one thing remained the same: they could not remember the mysterious figure who stood beside Gordos.
"Thank you," Exafanos said, handing over a large watermelon with golden-green skin.
Gordos accepted it with a pleased expression. "From your own field?"
"Of course. It's the only thing I still trust."
Gordos chuckled and embraced his friend.
"Well then, until the next catastrophe."
Exafanos nodded. Then silently, his body faded from the White Room.
---
Back at the Old Cabin
He had returned.
Amid the watermelon fields now in full bloom. The leaves were a vibrant green, and the soil smelled rich and earthy. The small cabin stood quietly on a gentle hill, surrounded by plants and the morning sun.
Exafanos sat on a rickety wooden bench, picked up a cup of warm tea from a stone table, and sipped it slowly.
It tasted bitter. But soothing.
He looked up at the sky—now blue again. No more transparency. No more cracking sound of shattered reality.
Only... peace.
He reached into a basket and picked out a fruit—oddly shaped and pink, one that grew only in his field.
He peeled it and took a bite.
"Ah... sweet," he murmured.
And in the soft breeze of morning, he heard a faint whisper.
Not the voice of an enemy.
Not of some foreign entity.
Just the whisper of reality... saying thank you.
---
To be continued...